Chef
by cyberwulf
Summary: Gumshoe cooks for Edgeworth, and gets all warm and fuzzy knowing he's nourishing Miles and making sure he eats enough. Written for the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme.
**Chef**

 **By Cyberwulf**

 **Rated T**

 **Summary:** Gumshoe cooks for Edgeworth, and gets all warm and fuzzy knowing he's nourishing Miles and making sure he eats enough. Written for the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme.

 _xxx_

Dick hummed to himself as he cleared the dirty dishes from the kitchen table. Funny – for so many years he'd pictured Mr. Edgeworth – _Miles_ – living in a big mansion, taking his meals at the end of a long table in a huge dining hall. And all along it turned out that he ate in his kitchen, just like Dick. Well, maybe not just like Dick. Miles' house wasn't a mansion after all, but it _was_ a lot nicer than Dick's old place.

And it turned out he didn't eat like Dick, either – just not in the way Dick had imagined.

Missile skittered into the kitchen, drawn by the sound of cutlery on plates. Pess waddled in after him, equally determined to get her fair share of scraps. Dick bumped Missile gently with his leg as he scraped the dirty plates into the garbage disposal.

"Sorry, pals," he explained, "this stuff's too spicy for you." He paused to scratch Missile between the ears. "We don't want any upset tummies." He turned his attention to Pess and ghosted his hand over her belly, swollen and heavy with pups. "Right, girl?"

Both dogs gazed at him with huge, mournful eyes.

"Aw, you know I can't resist when you gang up on me like that," Dick replied with a chuckle. He opened the top cupboard and fished two dog biscuits out of a tin. He walked both dogs back to the lounge and tossed them the treats. "Now _stay_ , okay? And don't wake your daddy."

He cast a fond look at Miles, who was snoozing on the couch. When he'd had a long day, or just a really stressful one, Miles often liked a catnap after dinner. Dick smiled and returned to the kitchen.

"Now, where was I…?" he murmured to himself. His gaze fell on the dirty dishes, stacked on the counter. Oh, yeah. Clean-up. He finished scraping the leftover food from the dishes. Not that there was much to scrape. Miles was such a good eater now. When he'd first moved in, Dick was astonished and kinda dismayed to discover that Miles barely ate at all. Not in a Very Special Afterschool Episode way, but in an I'm A Workaholic Who Forgets About Meals way. Dick had noticed that Miles was – well, not _skinny_ skinny, but pretty lean, and even a little bony in places. The man made three times Dick's salary but didn't even eat breakfast. Dick couldn't figure that one out. Who didn't eat _breakfast?_ And Miles used so much brain power, he _needed_ good, proper food to stay at the top of his game.

Dick loaded up the dishwasher and turned his attention to the pots and pans. He scraped the leftover chicken into a Tupperware container. There wasn't enough for tomorrow night's dinner, but there was enough for a couple of tortilla wraps with lots of salad. He filled the sink and plunged the dirty pots into the hot water.

He'd made up his mind within the first week of living with Miles that he'd get the man to eat properly. And Dick had quickly learned that there was no point asking Miles what he wanted to eat or when he wanted to eat it. Miles would usually shrug and say he didn't know right then what he'd want for dinner later or breakfast the next day. And he was so dedicated to his work that he'd stay holed up in his study with files and completely forget that dinner was at six or seven or eight. With a sinking heart, Dick had realised he'd have to use _brains_. It was scary, realising that someone like him would have to outsmart someone as clever as Mr. Edgeworth. But Dick was determined, and hey, if true love could conquer all, it could definitely conquer forgetting-to-eat-proper-meals.

He'd started getting himself out of bed at the same time as Miles, no matter how early it was. Then he'd rush downstairs while Miles was in the shower, and have a piece of fruit or some toast and tea ready for him before he headed to work. Dinner had been a little trickier. He tried interrupting Miles when the food was ready, but Miles would wave him away and say he'd be there in five. Which always turned into half an hour, or even a whole hour, and Miles' dinner was usually ruined by the time he finished with his paperwork. Pestering him over and over just meant that Dick's dinner ended up freezing cold, too. It was a real head-scratcher.

And then one evening, he'd had a genuine flash of inspiration while making a pot of beef stew. He'd ladled out a big bowl of delicious, wet, _messy_ stew, put it on a tray, and barged into Miles' study with it. Miles went white when Dick practically slammed the tray with the _very_ full bowl down on top of his important papers, making some of the stew slop out onto the tray. The look on his face that followed had Dick convinced that if they were at work his salary would be in danger. Dick had pretended not to notice, just saluted and told him to enjoy his meal.

It had worked better than Dick had hoped. Ten minutes later, Miles had come into the kitchen with the tray and the stew, and actually sat at the table. After only a couple of days of Dick barging into his study with fully loaded trays of messy food, Miles started coming for dinner as soon as Dick called him. And a few weeks after _that_ , Miles started arriving at the kitchen door right around dinner time and sat down and ate.

Dick finished scrubbing the last pot and got to drying them and putting them away. He glanced into the lounge. Miles was still napping. Missile was stretched out on the floor nearby, while Pess was in her bed. Dick smiled. He leaned down for Miles' lunchbox, sitting by the door, and put it on the counter.

With dinner and breakfast covered, that only left lunch. That had been a real headscratcher too, until Dick had caught sight of the colourful Steel Samurai lunchbox in the mini-mart one day. Miles didn't want to take it at first, but Dick had pushed it into his free hand anyway. And sure enough, that evening when Dick went to clean the lunchbox out, the food he'd packed for Miles was gone.

Just like today's lunch. Dick gave the lunchbox a quick wipe down and thought about what to pack for Miles for tomorrow. A tikka chicken salad wrap, definitely. He got the lettuce and a tomato out of the crisper and the tortilla wraps out of the cupboard. He cleared a space on the counter and got to work.

It was amazing the good that eating properly could do. Miles' face didn't look so thin and pale any more, and the bony parts of him weren't so bony. Dick wasn't trying to fatten Miles up – no, sir! In fact, with all the running around at crime scenes Miles did, he'd actually gained a little muscle. But now and then, if Miles sat a certain way, Dick could see just the hint of a tummy under his clothes. It always gave Dick a warm, fuzzy feeling. He was taking good care of Mr. Edgeworth, and those extra five pounds meant that everybody knew it.

Dick rolled the wrap nice and tight in aluminium foil. His gaze fell on the fruit bowl, fully stocked after the weekend grocery run. He picked out an apple and a banana for Miles to snack on, and carefully packed them so they wouldn't squash the wrap. He added a pot of natural yogurt and a small Tupperware container of blueberries for taste. Dick surveyed the lunch and nodded approvingly. That just left a bottle of Miles' favourite iced tea, and something sweet. He went to the cupboard and fished a fun-size Steel Samurai bar out of the cookie jar.

He heard footsteps behind him as he packed the last couple of things in the lunchbox. Dick looked over his shoulder as Miles padded up to him. He grinned – Miles was definitely cutest when he woke up after a nap, all rumpled and not even caring because it was just the two of them, and he didn't need to be all proper like at work.

"Good sleep, pal?"

"Quite refreshing," Miles answered. He stretched, then peered around Dick at the lunch.

"Is it okay?" Dick asked. "You want anything else?"

Miles slid his arms around Dick's waist.

"It all looks delicious," he murmured. He began to rub Dick's tummy in circles. "As was dinner. You have quite a talent in the kitchen, Detective. "

"Aww, gee," Dick mumbled shyly, warmth spreading into his face. "You're making me blush here, sir."

Miles leaned into him and Dick turned, putting his arms around him. He drew him close, running his hands up Miles' sides. When they'd first got together, he could almost count all of Miles' ribs with his fingers. Now they were cushioned by just the right amount of muscle and fat.

"I have a couple more hours' worth of work to do," Miles remarked. He looked away, a shy smile appearing on his face. "But after that, I thought…perhaps an early night?"

Dick smiled back, and gave Miles a kiss on the cheek. Now that Miles was being properly fed, he wanted sex more too – even if he still couldn't come straight out and say it. But Dick loved that about him, too.

"I'll be waiting for you, sir," he promised. "You want some tea and cookies while you work?"

Miles leaned up and kissed him. "Please."


End file.
